


over the hill

by practicallywritesitself



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alzheimer's Disease, Angst, Bombing, College Dropouts, Creative Ways of Fitting the SW Universe into 2020 California, Death, Disordered Eating (implied), Elements of mystery, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gun Violence, High School Antics, I KNOW THIS SOUNDS VERY HEAVY BUT HEAR ME OUT OKAY, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, POV Luke Skywalker, POV Third Person Limited, Present Tense, Recreational Drug Use, Sibling Bonding, THERE’S A LOT GET READY, mentions of:, probably slightly ooc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:01:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23588071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/practicallywritesitself/pseuds/practicallywritesitself
Summary: Luke Skywalker wants one of those high school experiences he sees in the movies. Instead, he’s got a sister across the country, a job waiting tables, and four seasons of Law & Order on DVR. Oh, and now he has to deal with his father’s enemies before they end up hurting the people he’s closest to.Yeah, he’s not sure how he got here either.*please read tags for tw!!*
Relationships: C-3PO/R2-D2, Luke Skywalker/Han Solo, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, background ships: (will be updated), don’t roast me bro they’re humans
Comments: 42
Kudos: 113





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> again, PLEASE read the tags for trigger warnings before reading!! i don’t think anything’s too bad but i don’t want to cause anyone any strife!!
> 
> enjoy folks :)

Senior year kind of sucks.

It’s nothing like any of Luke’s favorite movies. There’s no huge parties at the mansions in the Hills, or diving off the pier naked at four in the morning with a crew of airheaded friends, or kisses in the rain after prom night. He doesn’t spend his nights getting drunk or having sex, and the most scandalous thing he’s done this year is cheated on his AP Chem final.

Mostly, Luke studies and reads and occasionally gets high by himself under the boardwalk when he’s bored of studying and reading. The only other thing he does is stare at pictures of his father and waits for texts from Leia updating him on how fantastic New York is.

It’s been four months since his father died, and three since Leia moved across the country. Leia always hated Santa Monica, and Anakin’s death was a one way ticket out: they’d turned eighteen mere weeks before his death, so there was nothing keeping her there.

Well, except Luke, but he supposes that wasn’t enough.

Luke, on the other hand, had already committed to Orange Coast —  _ “Flight school on a budget,”  _ his father used to say — and had a room lined up at Uncle Ben’s place in Long Beach, so he dropped Leia off at the airport and started planning his new life.

Luke had been second-guessing himself since the minute he’d laid down on Ben’s creaky old mattress and couldn’t sleep because of the screaming couple across the hall and the constant stream of EDM drifting through the vents.

But Luke stays, and prays to whatever higher power might be looking over him that this year ends soon.

It’s May, now, and the temperatures have been rising to all time highs for the past four weeks. Luke blames global warming, but Ben seems convinced it’s some kind of Armageddon. He’s been pretty paranoid, lately — the doctor had mentioned Anakin’s death might have an effect on Ben’s mental state, and Luke can believe it, with the way he’s been acting recently.

So Luke sweats uncontrollably in his asinine diner uniform as he wipes the counter down for what feels like the thousandth time today and watches the clock with increasing desperation. He’s closing tonight, and though he has nothing better to do than lay in bed and watch Law and Order he cannot wait to get out of there.

He grabs a plastic cup from under the counter and fills it to the brim with Dr. Pepper, then sticks in one of the ridiculous silly straws they use in this place and tries to caffeinate as efficiently as he can while the final rush dies down. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he figures it’s another one of Leia’s infuriatingly glamorous updates —  _ “Did you know you just have to flirt with the bouncer at the Rainbow Room to get in?”  _ — so he ignores it and gets back to scrubbing.

“That’s, like, the sixth message from me you’ve ignored,” comes a voice from down the counter.

Luke turns and there’s Han, bouncing his fingers against the countertop in some rhythm only he can understand, smiling deviously at Luke in the way he’s been doing for what Luke can only imagine has been the past several lifetimes. He shoots Luke’s coworker a flirtatious grin as she sets a chocolate milkshake in front of him and then proceeds to run off blushing.

Luke groans. “How long have you been sitting there?”

Han shrugs. “Long enough to watch you  _ ignore all of my texts.” _

“I’m working, Han,” Luke explains, already exhausted by this conversation. “I can’t just — you know — check my phone every five minutes for needy messages from bored dropouts.”

Han glares at him over his milkshakes. “I’m not  _ needy _ .”

Luke huffs out a laugh and turns back to his rag.

“Chewie’s been asking for you,” Han continues. “He misses you.”

Luke rolls his eyes. “Sure.”

“It’s true,” Han argues, moving down the counter so he’s seated directly in front of Luke. He sets his drink right on top of the wet space where Luke’s been cleaning, mussing it up again. “We haven’t seen you in over a week. That’s, like, a lifetime for him.”

This is how the conversation always goes, the way it’s been going for the past four months. Luke ghosts his friends, they come looking for him, and Luke indulges their pity for one night before the cycle repeats all over again. He supposes it’s been a while since Han showed up at his door, and though the voice coming from Luke’s heart wants to think it’s because Han actually cares for him in the way Luke does, he’s pretty sure Han’s not exaggerating Chewie’s concern. 

Luke picks up Han’s shake and moves it so that he can wipe down the area it soiled again. When he’s done, he leans on one hand and massages his brow with the other. Han watches him expectantly the whole time. 

Luke digs out his phone with a sigh and dials Uncle Ben’s number. He puts it to his ear as it rings and mouths,  _ You’re a pain in my ass _ to Han, who just grins in return. 

_ “Luke _ ?” comes Ben’s voice over the tinny speaker. 

“Hi, Uncle Ben,” Luke says. “I’m gonna hang at Han’s tonight, is that okay?”

_ “Han’s?” _

“Yeah, down by the harbor, remember?”

_ “Oh,”  _ Ben says after a beat.  _ “Oh. Yes, of course. Be home before morning, son.” _

“Of course,” Luke says. “Thanks, Uncle Ben.” He goes to hang up. 

_ “Luke!” _

Luke brings the phone back up to his ear quickly. “I’m here.”

_ “I’ll tape SVU for you.” _

Luke lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “You’re the greatest.”

Ben hangs up. 

Han’s gone back to twiddling his thumbs and looking up at Luke through his lashes as he sucks down the last of his milkshake. Luke’s cheeks heat up as he swipes the glass from under Han and dumps it and his own empty cup into the dishwasher. “Give me ten minutes to lock up,” Luke mumbles. 

Han sweeps out of the diner and Luke finishes his chores, allowing the only other waitress on duty at this time to head out before him. He heads out and locks the door to the restaurant behind him before climbing into Han’s stupidly old pick up truck and shutting his eyes against the parking lot lights. 

“How’s the old man?” Han asks through the cigarette between his teeth. 

Luke shrugs. “Not any worse than last week, but not any better.”

Han curses and Luke opens his eyes to watch him fumble with the lighter for a moment before reaching out and taking it from him. He flips the switch and holds the flame to the end of the cigarette, trying and failing not to notice Han’s gaze locked on his practiced hand. 

Luke kills the lighter and drops it back into the center console as Han puts the car into gear and adjusts his mirror. He lets the engine run as he holds out the pack of cigarettes to Luke as he always does, and Luke declines as  _ he _ always does. Han shrugs and pulls out of the space. 

It’s about a ten minute ride back to Han’s place, so Han turns on the radio and lets Luke DJ. He settles on one of the classic rock stations and lets his head fall back as he watches the houses blur past. 

They pull up in front of the trailer Han’s been calling home for the past three years and Luke watches Han as he shuts down the car and reaches past Luke into the glove compartment, where he takes out two bottles of liquor and a can of root beer. He hands one bottle to Luke and throws open the car door before stepping back out into the humidity. 

Luke does the same and follows Han up to the door, which he raps upon three times with his elbow. He leans against the small railing that frames the doorway and looks Luke up and down. 

“Getting skinny, kid,” he remarks with more than a little disdain in his voice. 

Luke just shrugs as the door flies open. 

Lando grins down at the pair, his boisterous laugh flowing over them and into the quiet park surrounding them. He’s just finished his sophomore year at Drake, and he looks the part of aspiring law student-slash-frat boy: tailored chinos and fitted polo matched with a Bulldogs snapback and that ridiculous blue cape he picked up a few years back for Halloween. He’s also clearly been drinking already, if the uninhibited sway to his hips is any indication. 

“You  _ came! _ ” he shouts in Luke’s general direction, throwing his hands over his head. “I didn’t think Han’d be able to convince you. But you  _ came!”  _ Lando steps outside to wrap his arms around Luke way too tightly before pulling back and studying him. “You’ve lost weight,” he observes, and Luke glances over to see Han giving him an ‘I-told-you-so’ look. 

Luke opens his mouth to speak but Lando’s already moved on. “Come in!” he says, as if he’s the one paying the rent. 

Luke does as he’s told, passing Han and moving into the trailer. He follows Lando into the kitchen, where Chewie and Han’s old friend Q’ira are in the middle of what seems to be a life-or-death match of Go Fish. 

“Got any eights?” Q’ira asks, a flash of menace in her eyes as she moves ever so slightly closer to Chewie’s hunched form. 

Chewie growls low in his throat as he sends a card flying at Q’ira’s face with the deadliness of a throwing star.

Q’ira catches it with ease and leans back contentedly, laying it with its counterpart face down on the table as she flaunts her single card left. 

“Company!” Lando announces as Han shrugs off his yellow bomber and hangs it on the hook near the door. Luke steps out from behind Lando and the pair at the table roar their approval. 

Luke smiles sheepishly, moving inside to take Q’ira’s outstretched hand and allowing her to pull him down into the seat next to her. She throws her arm around him and leans into his side, allowing him to take a look at the one card she has remaining as he sets the bottle on the table. Q’ira, too, is back from school, but she’s studying at Oxford, the alma mater of her stuffy grandfather who only agreed to pay for her continued education if she returned to England and got her degree in something sustainable.

So, naturally, she’s majoring in philosophy. 

Chewie, on the other hand, is a dropout like Han — in fact, their decision to discontinue their education was a joint one. Neither of them had ever been particularly academically inclined, and they found the idea of wasting hundreds of thousands of dollars on getting a degree in something they could easily hack themselves downright appalling. So they pooled their savings and rented the trailer from a cranky old lady they’d found on Craigslist and are now supporting themselves with their salaries from the mechanic shop across town and spending their nights online gambling and attempting to break a variety of Guinness World Records. 

The image of Q’ira next to Chewie is fittingly hilarious — Q’ira is small and, though admittedly tomboyish, undeniably effeminate; Chewie, on the other hand, is one of the largest, most frightening men Luke has ever laid eyes on, and his form takes up as much space as three people of Q’ira’s size might. Still, Luke knows Q’ira could probably take out twice the number of bullies Chewie could, in half the time. 

Lando plops down next to Chewie and reaches past him for the liquor, which he unscrews with his teeth —  _ “Showoff,” _ Q’ira mutters — and pours into the shot glasses already set in front of him and Q’ira. Han drags a chair over to the table with his feet and sets a glass in front of Luke and himself as he slides Chewie the can of root beer, which he promptly cracks open and sucks down. 

Q’ira plucks Chewie’s handful of cards from his grasp with a whispered,  _ “We’ll call it a draw,”  _ and begins shuffling. She’s preparing to deal them all in for a round of Sabacc, a game Han and Chewie had invented in high school to confuse the kids that liked to beat them in poker. It’s become something of a tradition for the group to play a round whenever they get together, which has grown more and more rare over the past couple years. 

As Q’ira distributes the cards and Lando and Chewie get into a heated discussion about the legality of Amazon drones, Han leans over and shows Luke his hand — crappy. Luke does the same — equally crappy. 

They stay until they both have to fold, then Han kicks Luke under the table and stands up. He grabs the other bottle off the kitchen counter and heads out the door. Luke follows, ignoring Q’ira’s failed attempt at a covert wink and blocking out Chewie’s groans as Lando takes the pot. 

Luke steps out into the night, which has cooled down considerably since he left the diner a few hours ago. He shivers a bit and wraps his hands around his biceps, trying to take refuge from the breeze that’s being kicked up by the water just down the way. He spots Han sitting about halfway down the hill that his trailer rests on, a tiny stream of smoke visible in the light pouring out of the trailer. 

Luke stumbles his way down the hill and plops down next to Han, crossing his arms so he can rest his knees on his elbows. The wetness from a recent rain seeps through his jeans. “Those things are gonna kill you, you know.”

Han chuckles, but immediately takes the cigarette out of his mouth and grinds it under his foot. He then uncaps the liquor bottle sitting next to him and takes a swig before offering it to Luke. 

Luke accepts, and pushes the shitty vodka down his throat, savoring the burning sensation that lingers there. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sets the bottle down between him and Han. 

“You’re cold,” Han notes, watching Luke shiver from the corner of his eyes. Luke doesn’t respond, but Han takes off his jacket anyway and lays it over Luke’s shoulders. Luke shivers again, but this time, it’s from the feeling of Han’s knuckles passing over his bare skin. 

Han withdraws, and goes back to staring at the trees ahead of them. They’re only a few blocks from the ocean, and the smell of salt water clings to everything out here, from Luke’s own hair to Han’s jacket around his shoulders. It’s comforting, and it reminds him of the reasons he  _ does  _ love living in California: memories of summer days spent on the beach with his family, the feeling of sand between his toes and under his nails, field trips to the aquarium in middle school and first dates on the boardwalk as a tiny freshman. 

He’s also reminded of all the nights he’s spent here, in this park. When he and Leia were sophomores — the year Han and Chewie moved into the trailer — they used to spend every weekend crashing on Han’s couch or getting into trouble with the neighbors for playing music too loud. It was the six of them back then: Han, Chewie, Luke, Leia, Lando, and Q’ira, all of them still in high school and absolutely inseparable. Even when the teenage drama caught up to them — Han and Leia’s two-week romance, Q’ira’s fistfight that got her suspended, the rumors about Chewie being an ex-criminal — they never let anything come between them. It was them against the world, then, and Luke is surprised to find that he misses that family as much as his real one. 

His musings are interrupted by the sound of Han’s voice reaching his ears. “Remember when I said Chewie missed you?”

Luke has to turn to look at Han, who’s laying on his elbows behind Luke. He’s picking at the wet grass absentmindedly, and staring at Luke’s back, pointedly not meeting his gaze. 

Luke chuckles softly as he lays down flat next to Han. He lays his arms over his stomach and turns his head to watch Han’s hand in the grass. Luke has always been enamored by those hands: big and strong and calloused from his days working on cars in the shop. Han’s hands have been the subject of many,  _ many  _ fantasies over the course of Luke’s gay awakening. 

“Yeah, I remember,” Luke says. 

Han finally looks in Luke’s eyes. He looks drunk and, more importantly, vulnerable in the way he only does when he  _ is  _ drunk. Han was drunk the first time he told Luke he wasn’t going to college, he was drunk when he revealed he and Lando had been hooking up. Luke certainly doesn’t think it’s the healthiest habit, but honestly, he’s just glad Han can open up to him at all. 

“I may have been exaggerating,” Han says, and then bursts out laughing uncontrollably. Luke joins in — Han’s laughter is rarely this uninhibited, and when it is, it’s infectious. Han collapses onto his back next to Luke, and they manage to stop laughing long enough to flip onto their sides. 

Han and Luke are  _ yin  _ and  _ yang  _ in a lot of ways, and their position here, facing each other on the ground, mirror images in their posture, reflects that. Han is scruffy, all sharp edges, and probably hasn’t shaved in a week. More than that, though, he’s like steel: he’s been tested time and time again and has come out stronger every time. Luke, on the other hand, has gotten scrawny in the past couple months, and even though he’s probably been through an equal amount of shit he’s about one strong wind gust away from shattering. 

Still, here, in this moment, none of that seems to matter. Blame it on the alcohol — that’s what Luke’s doing, at least — but Han and Luke’s differences don’t feel as...pressing, as they sometimes do. Right now, they’re just two boys under the stars who seem more interested in gazing into each other’s eyes than at the sky. 

Han’s mouth turns up, a grin spreading across his face. Luke mirrors the look. 

“You’re getting my jacket dirty,” Han says, reaching out to pull on it from where it’s pinned beneath Luke. 

Luke squirms, doing his best to put as much weight on the jacket just to piss Han off. It works. Han’s so desperate to get the jacket back that he basically tackles Luke and they start rolling down the hill, which seems vaguely counterproductive considering they’ve abandoned the jacket where they were sitting.

They roll to a stop, a new bout of laughter overtaking them. Han is on top of Luke, framing Luke’s head with strong arms. His hair, which probably hasn’t been cut for months, hangs over his forehead, and Han’s so close that it almost brushes Luke’s face. 

They seem to become aware of their position at the same time, and though part of Luke wants to shrivel up and die under Han’s piercing gaze, most of him wants to close the distance between their mouths and shut Han up for once. 

In the end, though, Luke is powerless to do anything other than lay there and stare. Both he and Han are breathing heavily, and Han has lowered himself enough that Luke can feel the rise and fall of his chest.  _ This is it,  _ Luke thinks, half hysterical.  _ I’m going to kiss Han fucking Solo _ . 

Han leans down, a breath away from Luke’s lips. Luke closes his eyes. 

Luke’s phone starts ringing. 

He and Han groan in unison, and Luke pushes him off. He sits up and pulls his phone out of his back pocket. He answers without looking at the caller ID or Han.

“Yeah?” Luke’s voice is embarrassingly high.

_ “Mister Luke!” _ comes an even higher, absurdly British voice.

Luke freezes. “Threepio?”

He looks at Han then, who seems just as confused as Luke is. Caesar Threepio was Luke and Leia’s tutor and glorified babysitter when they were younger, back when their mother was a Senator for California and their father spent most of his time overseas designing military weaponry (a job that contributed greatly to Leia’s disdain for him.) But Luke hasn’t seen Threepio in years, save for Anakin’s funeral. The last he knew, Threepio was living in Austin with his recently retired husband.

_ “Yes, Mister Luke! It’s me! Oh, I’ve missed you and your sister so. And that boy you two used to hang around with. Mister Solo! How are you all—” _

Luke hears angry muttering from the background, and Threepio clears his throat.  _ “Well, we’ll catch up later, I suppose. Luke, your Uncle Ben is in some trouble.” _

Luke’s heart drops into his stomach. More angry muttering, and then the sound of the phone being grabbed and an offended gasp from Threepio.

_ “Hi, Luke,”  _ comes a new voice.  _ “Not sure you remember me. It’s Cee’s husband, Artoo. He is fucking awful at delivering news.” _

Another gasp, possibly more offended.

_ “Don’t worry,”  _ Artoo says immediately.  _ “Your uncle is fine.” _

Luke breathes out, slowly. He meets Han’s eyes, and notices he’s pale. Luke reaches out, slowly, and takes his hand.

“What happened?”

_ “Someone broke in,”  _ Artoo answers. “ _ Ben’s not hurt, just a little shaken up. He didn’t want to worry you, so he called us. We’re staying in Los Angeles for a conference this week and we let Ben know, in case he needed anything.” _

Luke’s heart feels like it’s breaking. “What was taken?”

_ “Surprisingly, the police don’t think anything was. They’re looking into the possibility that whoever broke in believed there was something specifically valuable that was being kept here.” _

“That makes no sense,” Luke says. “Ben doesn’t even have enough money to buy a place in a better neighborhood. Why would he be keeping something valuable locked up there?”

_ “I don’t know, kid,”  _ Artoo says softly.  _ “But you should get home. Ben’s looking for you.” _

“Yeah,” Luke says slowly, his mind reeling. “Yeah, of course. I’ll be back ASAP.”

_ “Thanks. We’ll wait for you.” _

“Thank you guys so much,” Luke says. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been here.”

_ “Don’t sweat it,”  _ Artoo says, and Luke believes him.  _ “See you soon.” _ He hangs up.

“I’ll drive you home,” Han says immediately.

“Don’t be stupid,” Luke says, hastily running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to look slightly more put together. “You've been drinking all night. I’ll call an Uber.”

Luke looks down and realizes their hands are still intertwined. He gulps and pulls his hand back, brushing down the front of his shirt as he hastily stands up.

“Thanks…thanks for checking in on me,” Luke says as he pulls back out his phone to open the Uber app. “I really appreciate it. Tell the guys I say bye.”

Han nods and stands up himself, wiping his palms on his pant legs. “Yeah. Anytime.”

Luke meets Han’s eyes one last time, noting subconsciously that Han’s face is just as red as Luke imagines his must be. They smile awkwardly at each other before Luke gives a little wave and starts heading up the hill.

“Luke?”

Luke turns hastily. Han is still at the bottom of the hill, standing there with his hands in his pockets.

“Let me know if you need anything, kid.” He pauses. “Take the jacket,” he adds, “it’s cold.”

Luke’s mouth quirks and he nods.

He grabs the bomber off the ground and walks away. 


	2. Chapter 2

Luke bangs open the door to the apartment and is first overwhelmed by the sheer  _ damage  _ inflicted by whoever broke in. He’s not sure how the police knew nothing was taken when so much crap is strewn about that  _ Luke _ doesn’t even know where everything is supposed to be.

The next thing Luke notices is Uncle Ben sitting on the couch in the living room, staring blankly at the wall, but before he can go to him Luke’s enveloped in a crushing hug.

“Mister Luke!”

Luke stumbles backwards, caught completely off guard. He awkwardly wraps his arms around his — er —  _ attacker  _ and pats his back, mostly in an attempt to escape the embrace which can now be described as  _ bone-crushing.  _ He’s pushed back to arms length, and Luke and Threepio study each other for the first time in six years.

Threepio looks pretty much exactly as Luke remembers him. He’s tall and thin and though his hair is grayer than Luke can recall, his eyes are the same inviting brown and his smile still lights up his whole face.

“You’ve grown up so much,” Threepio says, and Luke can see tears welling in his eyes. He’s suddenly brought back to being a stupid little eleven year old and letting Han and Leia get him into way too much trouble before tattle-tailing on them to Threepio, who always knew exactly how to calm Luke down. It seems he still does, Luke notes absentmindedly as he feels his heart rate slowing down just looking at Threepio’s familiar features.

“Alright, alright,” comes a voice from down the hall. “Give the kid some space.” Threepio squeezes Luke’s shoulder one last time before stepping aside as someone Luke doesn’t quite recognize comes to stand beside them.

“Luke, I do hope you remember my husband, Artoo.”

And — yeah, now Luke remembers, but for some reason 5’2 is a  _ lot  _ shorter when you’re a fully developed adolescent than when you’re nine years old. Artoo is extremely short, but also extremely built — Luke’s pretty sure Artoo could carry Threepio and Luke at the same time, one on each shoulder. Luke remembers that Artoo had some kind of connection with his father — whereas Threepio was employed in the Skywalker family for the purposes of looking after the kids, Artoo was a business associate to Anakin, the closest thing he had to an apprentice. But Luke knows they had some sort of falling out, and that it was part of the reason he and Threepio moved all those years ago.

Artoo extends his hand and Luke shakes it, his fingers practically crushed in Artoo’s grip. “Good to see you, kid,” Artoo says. “Sorry to pull you away from...whatever it was you were doing.”

Luke fights the urge to blush as he remembers the compromising position Threepio’s phone call had found him in. He shakes his head quickly. “It’s fine. How’s my uncle?”

All three of them look to the living room, where Ben is still motionless. “He’s been that way since we got here,” Threepio explains, apologetic.

Luke pushes past Threepio and Artoo and rushes into the living room. He sits down gingerly next to his uncle and follows his gaze to the opposite wall, where Luke’s parents’ wedding portrait hangs. Luke is suddenly brought back to four months ago, when he and Ben and Leia sat in this exact spot and stared at the same picture after Anakin’s wake, the apartment just as silent and only slightly less messy than it is right now.

Luke clears his throat and turns slowly to face his uncle. “Hey, Uncle Ben,” he says softly.

Ben’s only response is a nearly undetectable twitch of his cheek.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t home,” Luke says. “You know, when it happened. But we’re really,  _ really _ thankful for Threepio and Artoo, right?”

No response.

Luke lets out a breath, slowly, before turning to look at Threepio, who’s made his way into the living room with Artoo. Neither of them offer any helpful suggestions, which Luke can’t really blame them for, considering he can’t think of anything and he’s been living with Ben for half a year. Luke faces Ben again. “Can I do anything for you?”

Ben doesn’t seem like he’s going to do anything again, but he surprises Luke by reaching out and taking his hand. “Bed,” he says softly.

Luke smiles, relieved. “Of course. Give me two minutes and I’ll take you in, okay?” Ben nods and Luke stands, jerking his head toward the entry hall to gesture to Artoo and Threepio to follow him to the entry hall. He gives his uncle’s hand a last squeeze and moves towards the door.

Once out of earshot of his uncle, Luke leans against the coat closet shutters and crosses his arms over his chest. He watches his uncle: Ben still seems frozen, staring at the same portrait and shivering.

“He was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s about a year ago,” Luke explains to the couple without taking his eyes off Ben. “It was pretty manageable for a while, but it got worse once Dad died. Sometimes he just...gets like this.”

Luke turns to Artoo and Threepio, and they’re both looking about as upset as Luke feels. Threepio’s pale, and Artoo’s jaw is set, almost like he’s about to start crying. Luke realizes they must have been close to Ben back in the day -- Ben was as much a fixture in the Skywalker household and business as Anakin was. He imagines it must be pretty jarring to reconcile the vibrant Ben of ten years ago to the silent, still one sitting on the couch across the apartment.

“Sorry you guys had to deal with that,” Luke adds, feeling a little embarrassed.

Artoo shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, kid. We’re just upset we weren’t around more these past few months.”

“It’s fine,” Luke says quickly. “You guys had way more important things going on. Neither of us would have wanted you to put that on hold.”

Threepio smiles sadly and squeezes Luke’s arm. “Family comes first,” he says, and Luke’s heart does a little backflip.

“Look,” Artoo says, “we’ll be in town for another week. You need anything, you text us. You have Cee’s number now, right?”

Luke nods, and Artoo smiles. “Good. We’re staying around Pasadena, but we can be here in less than half an hour if you need us.” Artoo pauses, looking awkward, but ends up pulling Luke into a hug that’s far softer than he would have expected. Tears sting the back of Luke’s eyes, the events of not just tonight but the past several months catching up to him.

He probably lingers in the hug too long, but he doesn’t really care because this embrace feels like the closest thing he’s had to comfort from his father in a long time. Eventually, the two separate, and Luke is shocked to find his tears reflected in Artoo’s eyes. Threepio steps in and wraps his arms around both his husband and Luke, briefly, and then they’re through the door and headed back to their hotel.

Luke leans against the front door, taking a deep breath as he stares at the popcorn ceiling above him. He’d been hoping Artoo and Threepio may have had some insight as to what had happened tonight, but it seems that they either didn’t know or didn’t want to tell Luke. Still, whoever had broken in hadn’t found what they were looking for, which meant they’d be back.

For now, Luke has to take care of his uncle.

He heads back into the living room, where Ben seems to be slightly more responsive. Luke sits down carefully next to him.

“Time for bed?” he asks softly.

Ben nods.

Luke throws his uncle’s arm over his shoulder and hoists him off the couch. Together, they hobble into Ben’s bedroom, and Luke lays him down on top of the covers. Luke grabs one of Ben’s throws from the end of the bed and tucks it over him.

“Luke?” Ben asks weakly.

“Hm?” Luke responds as he continues to fuss over him.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

Luke stops messing with the covers and kneels next to the bed. “Don’t  _ ever _ apologize to me,” he says, stern.

“I should remember...I should know what they were looking for.”

Luke shakes his head firmly. “It’s impossible to know. They could have wanted anything -- you’ve got a lot of valuable stuff hanging around.”

“But they didn’t take any of that,” Ben argues. “My watch -- it was sitting on the entry table. That’s worth a lot.”

Luke shrugs. “Maybe they didn’t realize.”

Ben looks entirely unconvinced, but the events of the evening seem to be rapidly catching up on him and he can barely keep his eyes open at this point. He settles backwards into the pillows and takes a deep breath. “I suppose.”

Luke can’t help but smile a little at his uncle’s poor attempt at acquiescence. He leans over and kisses Ben’s forehead lightly. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he says.

Ben snores in reply.

Luke chuckles and turns out the light. Shutting the door as silently as he can, Luke pulls out his phone to check his messages. There’s two notifications there waiting for him:

_ SNAPCHAT: from q’ira _

_ MESSAGES: 2 messages from ‘solo’ _

Luke swipes to open Q’ira’s snap first. It’s a video, taken using the back camera and so shaky that Luke can barely make it out, of Q’ira pulling the Sabbac pot towards her. Its size has tripled since Luke left, made up of everything from twenty-dollar bills to shot glasses filled with whiskey to a tattered copy of Marx’s  _ Manifesto _ he can only imagine was contributed by Lando. The frame then pans to Chewie, who is slunk low in his chair with his arms crossed, growling and shooting daggers with his gaze.

Luke bites his lip to keep from laughing and quickly snaps back a grainy, poorly lit selfie with the caption, “idk why chewie still gets surprised.” He then switches to his texts and opens up Han’s chat.

_  
Friday, 11:47 PM - I’m gonna need that jacket back. _

_ Saturday, 12:23 AM - Btw, I feel bad I couldn’t drive you home, so. [TRANSACTION: +$18.67 added to your account.] _

Luke immediately clicks out a response.

_ ME: Saturday, 12:55 AM - you didn’t have to reimburse me _

_ SOLO: Saturday, 12:57 AM - Least I could do. Besides, I swiped a 20 from the pot before Q could take it. She was too drunk to notice anyway. _

Luke kicks his bedroom door closer behind him. He presses the little ‘call’ button at the top of the screen and waits three rings before Han picks up.

_ “Get home safe?”  _ comes Han’s rough voice through the speakers.

“Yeah. Threepio and his husband stuck around for a while. Ben just fell asleep.” He falls back onto his bed, throwing his arm over his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by his fan lights.

_ “How’s he doing?” _

Luke shrugs before realizing Han can’t see him. “He’s okay,” he says out loud. “Shaken up, obviously. And he blames himself.”

_ “Bullshit,”  _ Han says.

“Pretty much,” Luke agrees. “He feels like he should remember something...a clue, maybe. Something that would tell us what whoever broke in was looking for.”

_ “And you’re sure they didn’t just want, like, cash? Or a laptop, or something?” _

“The police seem to think they were looking for something specific, and that they didn’t find it.”

Han hums.  _ “Which means they’ll be back.” _

Luke sighs. “Hopefully not, but...yeah. Probably.”

_ “So what are you gonna do?” _

Luke pauses, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I guess I could ask Threepio and Artoo to stay here, but they’re only in town for another week. And they’ve got stuff to deal with, anyway. What would you do?”   


Han is silent for a moment, thinking.  _ “I think you should get Ben out of there,”  _ he says finally.  _ “Find somewhere for him to stay -- maybe with your aunt and uncle up in Sacramento.” _

“That’s a big change,” Luke says, hesitant. “I don’t know if he could handle it.”

_ “Keeping him there isn’t any better,”  _ Han argues.  _ “If those guys show up again, they might not be as nice. Ben could get hurt.” _

Luke takes a deep breath. “You’re right,” Luke says. “I’ll call Aunt Beru in the morning.”

_ “And what about you?” _

“What about me?”

_ “Where are you gonna stay?” _

“Here,” Luke says.

_ “No way.” _

“What?”

_ “Ben’s not the only one those guys could get violent with,”  _ Han explains.  _ “They’ll just as quickly kick your ass as his.” _

“I’m not leaving,” Luke insists. “Someone’s gotta figure out who these people are.”

_ “Then I’m staying with you.” _

“What?” Luke shoots up. “No. Han, stay with Chewie.”

_ “Fuck Chewie,”  _ Han says, casual as can be.  _ “Chewie can take care of his own goddamn self. You, on the other hand…” _

“I’ll be fine,” Luke says, a little offended.

_ “Like hell you will be. Kid, you’ve never even been in a fight. What if one of these guys shows up at your doorstep with a gun?” _

Luke’s confidence is waning, but he’s not gonna let Han know that. “I can figure something out.”

_ “Sure. Go to bed, call your aunt first thing tomorrow. I’ll be over by noon to take your uncle upstate, and I’m not leaving until all this shit is over.” _

“Han!” Luke pulls the phone away from his ear, attempting to put the volume up, but Han’s already hung up.

Luke groans and falls back onto his pillows.

What the  _ fuck _ has he gotten himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took SO long to write. i must have rewritten this chapter like 8 times. pretty pleased with the results though. leave comments + kudos!! <3


	3. Chapter 3

Han is on time for the first time in his life that morning.

Luke’s running around the apartment, organizing Ben’s medication and double-checking his packing, when he’s interrupted by the doorbell. He races to the entryway and flings open the door. Han is leaning against the frame, hands in his pockets, and he raises his eyebrows at Luke’s harried appearance. “You look like shit.” 

“Thanks.” Luke turns and heads back into the apartment, brushing his hair out of his face as he leans down and grabs a pair of Ben’s shoes off a chair in the dining room. “I didn’t sleep last night.”

“I can tell.” Han wipes his finger along the surface of the entry table and inspects it. “Were you up _dusting?_ ”

“This place was a mess,” Luke defends, turning back to Han and crossing his arms. “I couldn’t sleep knowing it was so dirty.”

Han glances around, noting the still disastrous apartment. “Which explains why you didn’t sleep.”

Luke huffs and goes back to his miscellaneous organization. “I was also looking for anything valuable,” he explains as he steps over a collapsed pile of files lying on the ground and begins speed-folding Ben’s laundry and throwing it into his suitcase. “I was…” Luke takes a look around the apartment, taking stock of the still-open drawers, dumped bins, and scattered papers. He clears his throat. “...Unsuccessful.”

Han coughs out a laugh. “Yeah, that much is obvious.” He strides past Luke, touching his shoulder as he passes -- Lukes face heats up involuntarily -- and Han plops down onto the couch.

“How’d the old man take the news?” he asks, throwing one hand over the back of the seat and picking at his fingernails with the other.

“Surprisingly well,” Luke replies as he zips up the suitcase. “Aunt Beru was, like, super into the idea. And when I told Ben, he didn’t even argue. He just said he thought it’d be nice to get away from the city.” Luke makes his way into the living room and sits criss-cross next to Han. “Wasn’t too excited about me staying here, but…” Luke blushes. “He was more receptive when I told him you were staying with me.”

Han grins and wiggles his eyebrows. “Told you I was right.”  
  
Luke rolls his eyes as Ben shuffles into the room. “Han!” he says, a smile spreading across his face. “I always knew I could count on you to take care of me in my old age.”

“In the room,” Luke reminds Ben without turning around.

Ben ruffles Luke’s hair, coming to stand behind him. “Yes, but whose idea was it to ship me up to wine country for the next two weeks?”

“I knew you’d understand, old man,” Han teases.

Luke huffs as Ben laughs and leans over Luke to shake Han’s hand. Luke ducks under Ben’s arm and picks up his suitcases off the dining room table, struggling under their weight.

“How much did you pack for him?” Han asks incredulously as he rushes over to relieve Luke by taking one of the suitcases. “Actually, better question -- _what_ did you pack for him? Rocks?

Luke snatches the suitcase back, refusing to give Han the satisfaction of knowing Luke definitely overpacked. “Enough for him to survive on an orchard for the next two weeks,” he snaps back. Luke looks past Han, settling his eyes on his uncle, who’s been watching their exchange with a supremely amused smirk. Luke sighs, already tired and they haven’t even begun their trip. “Ready to go?”

Ben’s smirk only grows. “As I’ll ever be.”

—

The ride up to Sacramento is long and boring. Luke spends the nearly six hour car ride catching up on his required reading, shuffling through his playlists, and arguing with Han over whether or not _professional parkour artist_ is a viable career option. Finally, around six, they arrive at Luke’s uncle’s winery.

Luke’s always been fond of the vineyard. His aunt and uncle have lived and worked here for as long as any of them can remember, and Luke used to spend every summer up here with Leia and his parents when he was little. He remembers pricking himself on the vines and stomping grapes under his feet (a practice Leia always found semi-disgusting), as well as learning everything there was to know about a hard day’s work and all the ways in which to treat a sunburn non-medicinally.

Han pulls the truck up in front of his aunt and uncle’s big, whitewashed farmhouse, and as soon as Luke steps out into the warm California sun a wave of nostalgia nearly knocks him over. He helps Ben out of the backseat as Han begins unloading the truck bed.

“Lukey!”

Luke turns to see his aunt rushing down the front steps, her arms extended as she prepares to smother Luke in one of her famous bear hugs. His Uncle Owen is standing in the doorway, leaning against the post and laughing as his wife tackles Luke.

“Aunt Beru!” Luke says through his own laughter, reciprocating her embrace. She pulls back after a moment and pulls Luke’s face to her own, inspecting him.

“You’ve gotten thin,” she reprimands.

“Why does everyone keep telling me that?” he manages to say through Beru’s cheek-squeeze.

She smiles widely and presses a kiss to her forehead. Luke observes her in turn - she looks pretty much exactly as she always has, plus a few more gray hairs. Though Beru is nearly as old as Ben, she’s in fantastic shape: her arms are strong from years spent in the orchard, and her eyes are keen and sharp as they gaze into Luke’s. Her style hasn’t changed, either. She looks like she hasn’t left the seventies -- she’s still wearing floral dresses and her vintage Levi’s jean jacket.

Uncle Owen, on the other hand, looks a little worse for wear: he has a bit of a limp that Luke notices as he shuffles down the stairs, and his bald spot has grown to consume almost his entire head. Still, he’s spritely, and Luke’s probably never been happier to see him in his life. 

Aunt Beru greets Ben with his own hug as Uncle Owen shakes Luke’s hand vigorously. “So good to see you, son. It’s been too long.”

Luke smiles gratefully. “Thank you guys so much for this,” he says as Aunt Beru wraps an arm over Luke’s and Ben’s shoulders. 

“It’s the least we could do,” Owen assures. “Ben is an excellent guest, anyway.”

“He likes his wine almost as much as we do,” Beru jokes -- and does Ben almost _blush?_

“Mr. Solo!” Uncle Owen exclaims as Han comes around the front of the truck, lugging the two suitcases behind him. “What are you, the hired help?”

“Aren’t I always?” Han replies with a grin.

Beru tuts, going over to kiss each of Han’s cheeks before turning back to Luke with a hand on her hip. “Luke, help your friend take Ben’s bags up to his room. The one on the first floor, with the view of the vineyard?”

“Of course,” Luke says, ignoring Han’s _your-aunt-likes-me-better_ smirk as he grabs one of the suitcases from him. Luke cocks his head towards the farmhouse and turns on his heel, not bothering to make sure Han’s following.

Upon entering the farmhouse, Luke is greeted by the distinct smell of fermenting grapes, his aunt’s perfume, and whatever Owen is cooking in the kitchen. He breathes it in greedily, savoring the memories that come with it.

“So, which way?” Han asks.

Luke gestures with his free hand towards the back of the house. “Come on,” he says, taking off through the house and dragging the suitcase behind him.

Luke leads Han down the hallway. It’s lined with framed photographs of the Skywalker-Lars family, covered almost floor to ceiling with their history. Luke takes stock of his favorites: Uncle Owen and Anakin as teenagers, sitting on the hood of Luke’s grandmother’s car; Aunt Beru with Uncle Ben, dancing at Luke’s parents’ wedding; Luke and Leia, playing in the sand at the beach, with Padme standing in the distance, her feet in the water. Luke’s vision gets a little cloudy when he spots a picture of him and his father at the airport, Luke asleep on Anakin’s shoulder. He tears his eyes away and keeps walking.

Luke opens the door at the end of the hallway, allowing Han in first. This room is Ben’s favorite, and Beru knows it: he’s the only one who ever gets to stay in here. It’s perfectly kept, the sheets turned down and the windows thrown open to let in the fresh air. Luke can’t help but smile when he notices the little basket on the nightstand, filled to the brim with Hershey Kisses, Ben’s favorite.

“This place is gorgeous,” Han says, inspecting the photos on the mantle opposite the bed.

“You’ve been here before,” Luke reminds him.

“Yeah, when I was, like, nine. I didn’t exactly appreciate it then.” Han plops down onto the big rocking chair near the fireplace, grabbing one of the picture frames as he falls into the seat. His face breaks into a grin as he inspects it. “Holy shit, is this _you_?”

Luke rushes around to the back of Han’s chair, frantically looking over his shoulder. Han’s grabbed one of the more embarrassing photos in the house: Luke, not much more than a year old, ass-naked in the bathtub and short hair sticking straight up with shampoo.

Luke snatches the picture out of Han’s hand and stuffs it in the nightstand drawer as Han breaks out laughing. Luke turns back around, face red, and leans against the nightstand in an effort to deter Han from trying to retrieve the photo. “I don’t know why she still has that,” Luke grumbles.

“You were cute,” Han defends, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms behind his head. He gives Luke an appraising once over, then adds, “Still are.”  
  
Luke’s face, somehow, gets hotter.

“Boys!” comes Aunt Beru’s voice from down the hallway. “Dinner!”

“You wanna stay?” Luke asks, pulling out his phone. “It’s already six-thirty. We can just stop at In-N-Out on the way home.”

“What’s Owen making?” Han asks, standing and sticking his hands in his pockets. 

“Meatballs.”

“Um, yeah. We’re staying.”

—

By the time Luke and Han have eaten their fill of spaghetti and Beru’s famous strawberry shortcake, it’s a quarter to nine, and Luke is truly dreading the traffic he knows is in his future. Still, the longer they stay, the worse it’ll get, so they allow Beru to pack up a couple Tupperwares for Chewie and say their goodbyes. 

Luke’s halfway out the door when Ben grabs him. “I remembered something,” he says suddenly. 

“About the break-in?” Luke asks.

“I think so.” Ben pushes Luke and Han through the door and onto the porch, closing the door behind them. “Owen doesn’t need to hear this,” Ben clarifies hurriedly, and Han and Luke exchange a confused look.

Ben ushers Han and Luke into the porch chairs and they sit, both slightly wary of whatever Ben is about to reveal. Ben himself stays standing, leaning against the railing and looking out at the stars.

“I remember…” Ben begins, then shakes his head. “I’m not really sure. It was very clear, but now…” Ben is starting to get frustrated with himself, and Luke rushes to his side.

“It’s okay,” Luke reassures him, hands on his shoulders. “Just tell us what you do remember.”

Ben takes a deep breath, then continues. “I remember your father gave me something,” he says, drawing his eyebrows together. “Shortly before he passed. A file...papers. He said they were important, but...I don’t know why.” He shrugs. “Whether that be because I don’t remember or he didn’t tell me, I can’t say. Either way, I know he was worried about them. Like they were threatening, somehow.”

“Do you still have them?” Han asks, leaning forward in his seat. 

“I must,” Ben answers. “I don’t remember getting rid of them.” He pauses, then laughs ironically. “Not that that means anything these days. But I can’t imagine I would’ve thrown out something Anakin gave me, especially not so close to his death.”

Luke nods. “No, I don’t think you would.” Luke smiles softly and gives his uncle’s shoulders a squeeze. “Thanks, Uncle Ben. You’ll call, right?”

“If I remember anything? Of course.”

“Well, yeah, but I just mean...I’ll miss you, while you’re up here.” Luke shrugs. “I don’t think a day’s gone by where I haven’t seen you since I was born.”

Ben laughs, and Luke notices that, inexplicably, their eyes crinkle in the same way. Luke and Ben aren’t related by blood, but Ben’s always been a second father to him, even before Anakin’s death. It makes his heart squeeze. 

“Stay safe,” Luke instructs. “And don’t drink too much.”

“I’m on a vineyard, boy,” Ben reminds him. “I think that’s impossible.” Ben turns, outstretching his hand to help Han out of his seat. “Take care of him,” Ben commands, looking about as stern as he ever could. 

“Always have, always will,” Han assures nonchalantly. Han lays a hand on Luke’s back and cocks his head towards the truck. “Come on, kid. I’m gonna fall asleep at the wheel if we don’t get going.”

Luke nods, and gives Ben one last hug. When they pull apart, Ben is smiling. 

“You’re all the best parts of him,” he observes wistfully, and Luke doesn’t have to ask who he’s talking about. He just smiles back, a little sad, and follows Han back to the truck. 

— 

Han doesn’t fall asleep at the wheel, but he nearly does, and he and Luke have to stop twice for coffee before making it home. By the time they reach the apartment building, it’s nearly four in the morning, and Luke is ready to pass the fuck out despite the ungodly amount of caffeine flowing through his bloodstream. In fact, Luke is so drowsy that he has to lean against Han just to get to the elevator. 

He doesn’t pull away once they’re on their way up, but Han doesn’t say anything, so Luke decides he’ll just blame it on the melatonin in the morning. 

The bell dings and the elevator doors open, and Luke groans. Han laughs in response, and pushes Luke into a semi-standing position before throwing his arm over his shoulders and dragging him down the hall. 

“Guess looking for that file is a job for tomorrow,” Han manages, obviously struggling under Luke’s weight. 

“Or two months from now,” Luke says through a yawn.

They reach the apartment, and Han shuffles out from under Luke, who sways from the lack of support. “Keys,” he requests.

Luke leans against the wall and fishes them out of his pocket. He’s way too exhausted to actually open the door himself, so he places them in Han’s open palm and closes his eyes, waiting for the door to open so he can sleep for the next several days. 

“Uh,” Han says.

Luke keeps his eyes closed. “Carry me,” he demands nonsensically. 

“Not gonna happen kid.”

Luke groans and opens his eyes, pushing himself off the wall. “Why not?” he whines. 

“Because you’ve got company,” comes a voice from inside the apartment, and Luke’s suddenly awake, looking past Han into the apartment.

All he’s able to notice is four hulking forms in the shadows before he feels pressure on the back of his head and hears the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking behind him, and Luke pretty much blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a long ass chapter holy fuck. anyway hope you enjoyed!! please leave comments + kudos love y’all <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember when this was gonna be simple, cute lil skysolo fic? damn, miss those days  
> more notes @ end

“Wake up, kid!”

Luke’s eyes flutter open. He’s groggy, and a little dizzy, and not totally sure where he is until he spots his parent’s wedding portrait in the corner of his eye. His living room, then -- but it’s dark, and he doesn’t think he can move, and then Luke realizes with a shock that Han’s straining his neck to mutter in Luke’s ear and their hands are tied together behind them.

And then he remembers passing out, and the gun on his temple, and the adrenaline starts pumping in full force. 

Luke starts to struggle, the only thought in his head to get out of the chair he’s bound to, but Han gives him a swift kick to the shin and he stops to register the pain. “Would you quit it?” Han hisses. “I've tried it all already. Whatever they used to tie us up is strong.”

“What happened?” Luke whispers, half-hysterical.

“We were ambushed,” Han replies quietly. “You fucking fell to the ground the second you realized we weren’t alone, and they made  _ me  _ carry you in here. Remember when I told you you were getting too skinny? I take it back.”

“What are we gonna do?”

“No clue. They took our phones before I could get ahold of anyone, and we’ve already been in here for, like, half an hour, so I don’t think anyone’s coming.” Han cranes his head so he can see past Luke. “They’ve been in the kitchen since they tied us up. Apparently we’re not very threatening, because no one’s even come out to check if we’re still here.”

Luke tries once more to break the ties holding him and Han together, but he’s as unsuccessful as Han warned. Luke lets his head fall back. “This is about the file, I’m guessing.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re not looking for your toy car collection, so, yeah. I’m guessing so.”

Luke’s about to snap back when the sound of heavy boots reaches his ears, and he freezes. Out of the darkness, a figure emerges: Luke can’t make out any details, but whoever it is is tall, muscular, and supremely menacing. 

The figure stops directly in front of Luke, and a lamp is switched on. Luke blinks against the sudden change in light and looks blearily up into the figure’s face, and his first thought is, inappropriately,  _ He’s hot. _ Luke shakes his head against the intrusive thought and the drowsiness, and inspects the man more thoroughly.

He’s definitely taller than Luke -- taller than Han, even. His head is shaved, and his ears are adorned with an absurd number of piercings, the most glaring of which is a long silver cross hanging from his left lobe. The man’s hands are wrapped around his own impressive biceps, but his piercing gaze is fixed on Luke, unblinking and expectant.

“Um,” is all Luke manages to say.

To his surprise, the man actually laughs. Turning around, he grabs a chair not unlike the ones Han and Luke are tied to and spins it around to sit down backwards. His face is uncomfortably close to Luke’s, and Luke gulps, pushing himself as far back as possible.

“Sleep well?” The man has an accent, one that’s hard to place, but lilting and almost lyrical. His mouth stretches into a devious smile, and Luke is completely unsure of how in the hell he should be feeling right now.

When Luke still doesn’t respond, the man crosses his arms over the back of his chair and leans back slightly. “Still groggy, huh? I guess I’ll go first.” Swiftly, he leans down and grabs a long, shining knife from under his pant leg and holds it to Luke’s neck. “Where’s the file?” His veneer of friendliness drops from his features as quickly as he retrieved the concealed weapon, and Luke’s Adam’s apple bobs against the blade uncomfortably as Han begins to struggle against the ties again. Immediately, another figure emerges and holds Han down by the shoulders. From the hiss Han lets out, it’s obviously not comfortable.

“Who the hell are you people?” Han asks, seemingly out of breath.

“Wrong question,” the first man tuts. “You really should be asking who we work for.” Suddenly, he pulls the knife away, and Luke sucks in a breath as the man stands and walks over to the wall, inspecting the wedding portrait. He turns and leans directly against it, shuffling the knife through his fingers as he watches Han and Luke curiously. “But since you asked so nicely, I’ll tell you. Name’s Boba Fett.”

“Never heard of you,” Han snaps.

“Wouldn’t have expected you to,” Fett retorts, unbothered. “You don’t seem to be the type to hang around with gang members.” He raises an eyebrow. “Although, on second thought, you do have spirit. Maybe you’d do better than expected.”   
  
“So you’re from a gang, then,” Luke clarifies. “What does a street gang want with some papers in an old man’s apartment?”

“A street gang  _ doesn’t  _ want papers,” Fett drawls. “But sometimes papers can lead to some powerful people with a lot of money.” Fett pushes himself off the wall and begins pacing leisurely across the room. He moves with agility and purpose, his strides long and catlike. Luke’s positive Fett could overpower himself  _ and  _ Han at the same time even if he didn’t have concealed weapons and a troop of guards behind him. “And whatever papers your uncle’s been keeping in here are worth  _ a lot  _ of money. So, I’m gonna ask you again.”

Fett stops walking and turns to face Luke again. He reaches behind him and pulls out a gun: silver and almost as shiny as the knife he used earlier, and ornamented with what appears to be rubies along the barrel. He presses it against Luke’s forehead, and all the blood in his body rushes to the spot, fear overtaking him.

“Where’s the file,” Fett snarls.

“We don’t know!” Han shouts. Luke imagines he’s being threatened in the same fashion by one of Fett’s cronies, and is awed that Han can still form coherent sentences.

“You expect me to believe this kid’s been living with his senile uncle for months and he’s never seen the thing in his life?” Fett releases the gun’s safety. “Try again. Where is it?”

“He’s not lying,” Luke chokes out. “I swear, I don’t know anything about it.”

Fett cocks his head and lets out a small sigh. “You know, I think I believe you.” In spite of his words, he only presses the gun harder. “Too bad we take no prisoners.”

Luke squeezes his eyes shut, unable to think of anything beyond the fact that these are his last moments. Distantly, he feels Han’s fingers wrapping around his own, the pressure of his squeeze almost equal to that of the rifle against his temple.

Suddenly, the gun goes slack and drops to the floor, along with Boba Fett.

Luke’s eyes fly open and standing before him, replacing the image of Fett’s cruel smirk, is a woman. She’s short, but obviously muscular, which Luke can tell even from behind several layers of gray sweatclothes. Her platinum hair is plaited messily into two braids, a single strand of blue intertwined through each of them. Most notably, she’s holding a recently deployed taser in one hand and a pistol in the other, which is currently pointed at the head of Han’s captor.

The man attempts to train his own weapon on the woman, but before he can she shifts her aim to a vase directly behind him and shoots, striking the ceramic and sending shrapnel flying. Fett’s gang flees, leaving him at the feet of the boys’ savior.

“Damn,” the woman says, resting her fists on her hips as she takes a deep breath. “They always run.”

She locks eyes with Luke then, who is staring up at her with a mixture of admiration and terror. She lets out a quick laugh, then sinks to her knees and flips Boba Fett over. He’s completely unresponsive, but she seems satisfied when she checks his pulse, so Luke assumes he’s still alive, just stunned.

The woman pulls a pair of handcuffs out of her back pocket before shifting her arms under Fett’s and dragging him to the radiator under the window. With a grunt, she props him against the wall and clips one half of the cuffs to the radiator and the other around Fett’s wrist. Wiping her palms on her pant legs, she walks back over and kneels in front of Luke. She smiles as she leans behind him and, with a flick of her wrist, cuts the ties binding Luke and Han.

Luke massages his wrist, inspecting the marks left there by the ties. He meets the woman’s gaze again. “Who are you?” he asks, his voice coming out as a squeak.

Her face breaks into a grin and she sits back on her heels, pulling out an ID from her sweatshirt pocket. She flashes it open, revealing a police badge. “Detective Ashoka Tano,” she confirms. “Well, I’m technically retired, but they let me keep the badge, so.” She stands and stretches out her hand. Luke takes it warily and she pulls him up. 

“How’d you know where we were?” Han asks, pushing himself out of his own chair shakily.

“I live downstairs,” Ashoka answers. “I’ve never noticed anyone stomping around up here at four-thirty in the morning, so I figured I’d check it out. Good thing, huh?”

“Who were those guys?” Luke asks, lowering himself onto the couch. 

Ashoka takes a seat on Ben’s recliner, elbows resting on her knees as she drops the gun and taser on the floor at her feet. “They call themselves the Clones,” she says, pulling out her phone and scrolling through before showing it to Luke and Han. It’s a blurry picture, probably taken on a security camera, of a bunch of men robbing a jewelry store at gunpoint. “They’re just like any other gang in this city: pushing drugs, breaking and entering, causing general havoc.” She puts her phone away and looks over at Boba Fett, who’s still unconscious and slumped over. “Question is, why were they here?”

Luke and Han share a look, debating silently if they should clue Ashoka into the file situation. Their silent argument doesn’t go unnoticed, and Ashoka chuckles quietly. “‘Ight, I get it. I wouldn’t trust me either.” She stands, picking up her gun again, and Luke tenses briefly before she deposits it back in its holster and begins walking around. 

She stops abruptly in front of the portrait of Anakin and Padme. “Holy shit,” she mutters.

Luke exchanges glances with Han. “Detective?”

She whips around, her face pale, as if she’s seen a ghost. She studies Luke, searching his face with interest before covering her mouth with her hands. “Holy shit,” she repeats. 

Luke’s about to ask if she needs to lie down, or something, when she bursts into manic laughter. “I’ll be damned,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re his  _ son _ .”

“Wait, what?” Han says. “You knew Anakin?”

“Knew him?” Ashoka says, sitting back down. “We were next door neighbors for years in the Valley. Jesus, you look just like him.”

Luke shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Um, thanks.”

“How is he?” Ashoka asks excitedly. 

“He’s, um…” Luke gulps. “He’s dead.”

Ashoka’s features freeze for a moment, before falling. “Oh,” she says softly. “Oh, damn. I’m so sorry, kid.”

Luke shrugs. He’s heard the apology a thousand times, and at some point, it stopped meaning anything. “So what are we gonna do with Fett?” he asks, pointedly changing the subject and glancing over at the man. His breathing seems to have evened out, and he’s almost stirring.

“I called in backup as soon as I realized what was going on,” Ashoka says, standing back up and walking over to check on Fett. “They should be here any minute. In the meantime, you kids should get in contact with whoever’s taking care of you.”

“That would be Han,” Luke says, embarrassed.

Ashoka turns back to the pair, crossing her arms. “Seriously? What about the old guy you live with?”

“Took him up to Sacramento this morning,” Han answers. “Wanted to keep him out of harm’s way.”   
  
Surprisingly, Ashoka nods. “Good idea. You guys should probably do the same. Get out of this apartment. I’m sure Fett’s not the last guy who’s gonna show up here.”

As if on cue, Boba Fett groans quietly, lifting up his head. There’s a thin stream of blood flowing down his face, assumedly from when he fell to the ground, but a smirk plays over his features as he lets his head fall back against the wall and studies Ashoka. “I haven’t seen you around. Didn’t know there were such gorgeous cops in this city.”

Ashoka raises an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “I’m old enough to be your mother, Fett.”

His smirk only grows. “That’s never stopped me before.”   
  
At that moment, the apartment door slams open and a coterie of police officers file in, weapons at the ready. Luke and Han immediately throw up their hands on instinct, but the cops lower their pistols once they realize the culprit is safely apprehended.

Most of the cops spread out to inspect the apartment, ensuring there isn’t any further threat, but one man steps into the living room. He’s broad, with dark skin and salt-and-pepper hair cropped close to his skull, and slightly older than Ashoka. 

“You know, if you’re going to keep doing this, you might as well come back on payroll,” he says to Ashoka, who laughs in response. 

“Yeah, yeah, Rex,” she says. “I get it. You’re sick of your rookie partner.”

“He’s so useless,” Rex whines. 

Ashoka shakes her head, smiling, and gestures to Boba Fett. “He’s all yours.”

Rex goes about apprehending Fett, reading him his rights loudly as he pulls him to his feet and secures the cuffs, and Ashoka wanders back over to Han and Luke, her arms crossed. 

“If you need anything,” she says sternly, “I’m right downstairs. I know you don’t want to share the details of what happened here, and luckily we’ve got enough on Fett already that a statement isn’t necessary. But still.” Ashoka looks around, making sure no one is around to hear her. “You ever need help from someone who  _ isn’t  _ the police…” She digs into her pocket and pulls out a small piece of paper, and hands it to Luke. He unfolds it, and written in neat writing is a phone number. 

“A friend of mine,” she explains. “Let’s just say we got close during my time on the force, but he’s turned his life around.” She taps the paper in Luke’s hand. “Ask for Mando. They’ll know who to direct the call to.”

Luke shakes his head. He’s overwhelmed with gratitude: between the fact that this woman had enough good instinct to check out the apartment, and that she’s not pushing for answers, Luke thinks he could cry. Maybe that’s just an after effect of near-death experiences. 

“Thank you,” he says, trying to sound as genuine as possible. 

Ashoka winks. “Anytime.” She walks away, following the rest of the squadron out of the door, but turns back just before closing the door behind her. She smiles softly, looking between the portrait and Luke. “Yep, just like him,” she says quietly, and then shuts the door and walks out. 

Luke and Han are silent for a moment, staring at the door. Luke can’t quite get his brain to process everything that just happened, and the only thing he’s able to register is that he’s been awake for nearly twenty-four hours and his body’s about to give out on him again. 

“So, what now?” Han asks, breaking the silence cautiously. 

Luke rubs the paper between his fingers, turning his gaze to the wedding portrait. He thinks, briefly, that Ashoka is right: he is starting to look like his father. 

“Now,” Luke answers, “we find that file.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so i was REALLY apprehensive to write ashoka because full disclosure i have never watched and do not intend to watch the clone wars. however i needed a badass acquaintance of anakin’s to swoop in and save the day, and ashoka seemed like the perfect fit. i based literally everything about her character off of stupid tumblr textposts but i really hope i did her justice because she honestly seems amazing. that being said please give me feedback on how i wrote her. she might come back later in the story. same thing goes for rex and (later) mando. (side note, DO mando and ashoka interact in canon? do they even exist in the same time period? whatever. they do now.)
> 
> anyway, as always, leave comments and kudos!! also my tumblr is @practically-writes-itself so hit me up in there too if you’re so inclined. tl;dr i love you all and appreciate your feedback so much <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter, especially the end, is very rushed. it's mainly filler. not my best work, but the end is very important.
> 
> more notes at end.

Despite his exhaustion, Luke can’t sleep. 

He’s pretty sure that being tied up, threatened with a gun, and subsequently rescued by one of his father’s childhood friends constitutes insomnia, but it’s still frustrating. What he really wants is to close his eyes, drift off to dreamland, and then wake up to realize none of this has been real and he’s been in some kind of comatose state for the past year. But considering that’s relatively unlikely, Luke will settle for a couple hours of sleep. 

It doesn’t seem to be in his future, though. He can’t stop thinking about everything that’s transpired over the past couple days. Chiefly, he’s incredibly thankful that Han convinced him to bring Ben upstate. He can’t imagine the disaster that would have occurred if his uncle had been home when Boba Fett showed up. 

And Luke still has to wonder: what  _ was  _ Boba Fett doing here? He was looking for the file, obviously, but why? All Luke has to go off of is that Fett was hired, and by someone with money and a significant interest in whatever it contained. 

What the  _ fuck  _ was in that file?

Luke groans and flips over, pulling his pillow over his head as if it will block out his thoughts. Besides the obvious issues of murderous gangs and secret papers, Luke’s still a teenage boy, and he’s acutely aware of the fact that Han is sleeping in the next room over. With all that’s happened this week, Luke hasn’t had time to properly evaluate the almost-kiss at Han’s. 

Luke has been in love with Han for as long as he remembers. When they were little, it was more of an admiration: Han was two years older, after all, which meant he went to high school first, drove first, started a job first. He was clever and worldly and from a universe completely separate from Luke’s — whereas the Skywalkers were a close-knit, nuclear family, Han was an orphan. He lived with a foster family that housed ten kids — Chewie included — but weren’t equipped to do so. As such, the Skywalkers became his second family — Luke can hardly remember a night that Han wasn’t over for dinner or an afternoon not spent at the skatepark or boardwalk with him. 

As the two got older, Luke’s feelings of childlike awe turned into infatuation. Around the time Luke entered high school, whatever romantic feelings he harbored for his best friend came into sharp focus. Han, a junior at that point, had grown into his long limbs and filled out, and Luke took keen notice of this. Unfortunately, so did Leia, and about every other girl at school. 

So Luke watched for two more years as Han sifted through girl after girl, guy after guy — including his sister. Thankfully, that particular relationship lasted about as long as could be expected, and after two weeks Han was left crying on Luke’s shoulder and Leia was back to her own long list of romantic exploits. 

Honestly, Luke has never even  _ considered  _ that Han might be interested in him. Luke is — well, he’s Luke. He’s gangly and easily irritated and way too committed to his uncle to seem even remotely available, let alone  _ attractive _ to someone like Han. But whatever had come over Han that night seemed genuine. Luke knows they were both drunk, and it was late, but the look in Han’s eyes was... _ real _ . Besides, he’d given Luke his favorite jacket. That had to mean something, right?

Luke sighs, growing more exhausted by the second. He flips onto his back and reaches out without opening his eyes, flailing his hand around his nightstand until he finds his phone. He brings it within an inch of his face and squints against the brightness, vaguely recognizing the time — 6:12 AM — before opening Google.

He searches several keywords:

_ boba fett  _

_ gangs in l.a. _

_ the clones _

Eventually, he comes across a couple articles detailing some arrests involving the gang, but nothing particularly insightful. They all say basically the same thing: the Clones are responsible for a number of armed robberies across the greater Los Angeles area, have existed for upwards of fifteen years, and though many high-ranking members have been arrested, they’ve never caught the boss. 

Luke refreshes his page and digs the slip of paper Ahsoka gifted him out of his sweatshirt pocket. He unfolds it and enters  _ mando _ into the search bar, along with the number scribbled. A YellowPages site reveals that the number belongs to someone named Din Djarin, so Luke adjusts his search to include that name. 

Only two things of value show up when Luke presses enter: a LinkedIn page and an article from four years back, which, Luke realizes, also appeared in his previous Clones search. 

He clicks on the article first and skims through. With a shock, Luke gathers that Din was a member of the same gang that had just tried to kill him and Han. He went by Mando then, and was arrested back in 2016, but got out on parole for good behavior after only two years. 

Luke goes back to his search and reads through Din’s LinkedIn page. Apparently, he’s currently working in construction in Virginia.

So, Ahsoka gave Luke the number of a former gang member now living across the country. Which begs a few questions: How could Din help if he doesn’t live on this side of the continent anymore? Would he even be willing to assist someone with ties to his former life of crime? And why does Ahsoka even have his number?

Luke drops his phone back onto his nightstand and lets his arm fall over his face. Deciding there’s no hope for him to get any more rest, he throws off his covers and sits up, yawning the whole time. 

Shuffling into the kitchen, Luke flips on the switch and comes face to face with the damage the Clones inflicted the previous night in their search for the file. The table is covered with papers — old newspapers, receipts, bills that have already been paid — and the cabinet doors are flung open, the dishes pushed aside carelessly as if Fett’s team had searched behind the wallpaper. With a chill, Luke notices several pieces of china have fallen to the ground and broken into shards, one of which is unmistakably Ben’s favorite mug. 

Luke sighs and grabs the broom out of the hall closet and sets to work cleaning up. He brushes the broken ceramic into the garbage pail and turns on the coffee pot before sinking into his chair and setting to work sorting through the papers on the table. 

Half an hour passes before Han appears in the kitchen, pouring himself the coffee that Luke had forgotten about in his persistent organization. Han sits across from Luke and, without a word, begins sorting his own pile. 

For the next three hours, the pair works almost silently on returning the apartment to order. Luke pulls out as many papers as he can find in the boxes scattered around Ben’s room, and Han looks through every drawer he can find. By noon, they’ve searched every nook and cranny in the apartment, and Luke’s lying on the living room floor hopelessly.

Han lumbers into the room and falls onto the couch. “At least the apartment’s clean,” he offers. Luke groans in response. 

The front doorbell rings, and Luke and Han exchange a look. “You expecting anyone?” Han asks skeptically. 

“Not that I know of.” Luke pushes himself off the ground and stumbles his way over to the front door. He peers through the peephole warily — any visitors after last night seem like a threat — and is greeted by two familiar faces. 

Luke opens the door curiously and Artoo comes barreling in, heading straight into the living room without a word. Threepio rushes in behind him, blubbering apologies and platitudes, and Luke’s head spins from what seems like a sudden change in gravity. 

Artoo plants himself in front of Han, arms crossed and steam practically pouring out of his ears.

“The hell were you thinking letting him stay here?” Artoo demands. Han is frozen, gazing up at Artoonwith pure fear radiating from his eyes, and Threepio pauses his apologies to greet Han cheerily. Han doesn’t acknowledge him.

Artoo seems to be waiting for some kind of answer, but Han still hasn’t moved, so Luke inserts himself between the two. “What are you guys doing here?”

Artoo huffs. “We were watching the news this morning, and guess what we saw? ‘Long Beach Apartment Ransacked,” he quotes, “‘Idiot Teenage Boys Held Hostage.’”

“That wasn’t quite the headline,” Threepio pipes up.

“It isn’t Han’s fault,” Luke insists. “I wanted to stay here to find what they were looking for.”

“And?” Artoo asks. “Did you find anything?”

Luke gulps. “Well, no, not yet, but we know it was a file and--”

“Then we’re leaving.” Artoo turns to Threepio and points towards the bedrooms. “Go find their suitcases, or something. They’re coming home with us.”

“What?” Luke asks, alarmed, when Threepio squawks and stumbles away. “We can’t just leave when we still don’t know what they want.” 

Arto whips back to face him, and for the first time, Luke is struck by just how terrifying he can be. “I don’t think you fully understand the situation here. There are  _ armed men _ looking for something in your apartment, and they are fully prepared to  _ kill you  _ to get it.”

“Yeah, but Ahsoka--” 

“Some ex-cop is not going to protect you from whoever’s coming next,” Artoo sneers, and Luke’s pretty sure that there’s some history there he isn’t prepared to go into.

He’s about to argue again when Threepio emerges from Ben’s bedroom. He clears his throat. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says, “but you said they were looking for a file, correct?”

All three heads turn towards Threepio, who has pulled a manilla envelope from behind his back.

“Where did you find that?” Luke demands, moving towards him.

“In the back of your uncle’s closet,” he explains. The three gape at him.

“I was looking for a suitcase.”

Luke shakes out his head and snatches the file out of Threepio’s hands. He rips it open and pulls out the contents, scanning the single page carefully.

Han’s come up behind him to read over his shoulder, and Luke hears his sharp intake of breath as he realizes what it is.

“Well?” Artoo asks anxiously.

Luke stares at the file. It’s a blueprint -- Luke recognizes the drawing style from some of the papers he found in his dad’s office after his death. Clearly, it was produced by Anakin’s company, and the curves and features of the deceivingly simple circle on the page are detailed and precise -- almost disturbingly so.

“Dad’s last project,” Luke whispers, mainly to himself. Artoo and Threepio crowd behind him, trying to view the page.

Scrawled across the top, in his father’s handwriting, is the name of the weapon’s prototype:

_ THE DEATH STAR, V. I. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this took SO LONG to bang out and the end product is pretty shit. basically i've been pretty uninspired to write, especially with all that's been going on recently. but after this chapter the plot will really start to pick up and it'll be a lot easier for me to continue.
> 
> i hope you guys enjoyed (at least to some extent!) leave comments and kudos if you're so inclined, and follow me on tumblr @practically-writes-itself !


	6. Chapter 6

No one says anything for several moments. Luke is holding in his hands the last known project of Skywalker Industries, and it has to have been Anakin’s most ambitious endeavor to date. The plans are massive and detailed: the file contains not only the blueprint, but a packet describing materials, projected costs, and even a list of prospective buyers.

Most concerning is the proposal outlining the weapon’s uses. Luke’s no scientist, but a quick scan over the page gives him the gist: the weapon is nuclear, enormous, and more destructive than anything built before. There’s even a crude note included in the file describing the weapon as “four times as powerful as the Manhattan Project ever dreamed of being.”

Artoo is the first to break the silence. “So that’s what they’ve been looking for.”

Luke carefully folds the file back shut as the other three disperse around the living room, each grappling with the implications in his own mind. Artoo falls into Ben’s recliner, Threepio gazes out the window worriedly, and Han leans his head against the wall, trying to catch his breath.

Luke’s hands are shaking. He’s known, of course, that his father’s projects were dangerous, but he never realized the full scale of their potential. Luke imagined firearms and handguns. He never dreamed that Anakin’s company would be producing military grade bombs.

Luke lowers himself onto the couch and gingerly runs his fingers over the manilla envelope as discussion erupts across the room. Threepio is interrogating Artoo over whether or not he was aware of the project, which Artoo staunchly denies, sounding as horrified as his husband. Han is pacing the room, looking more pensive than Luke’s ever seen him. Luke feels his phone ping in his pocket and pulls it out dazedly, keeping one hand on the file as if someone is about to come up and snatch it away.

It’s a text from Leia. Another one of her cosmopolitan life updates -- this time, she’s having brunch on some rooftop garden overlooking Central Park. Luke is once again reminded how different the lives he and his sister are leading are: while Leia is sipping mimosas with her girlfriends across the country, Luke is struggling to interpret the consequences of his dead father’s mass weapons production company. He’s tempted to shoot back something along the lines of _‘That omelette looks delicious! I was held hostage for several hours last night by gang members and our dad designed the next hydrogen bomb. Give Aunt Breha a hug for me!’_ , but he restrains himself and puts his phone back in his pocket instead. He’s pretty sure Leia would want him to wait to deliver this particular bit of intel until after she finishes her eggs.

Luke, fed up with Artoo and Threepio’s argument, groans loudly and lets his head fall back. All three pairs of eyes turn to him immediately.

Han lowers himself to sit next to Luke. “You okay?”

Luke turns to stare at Han. He raises an eyebrow. “I’ve been better.”

Han’s lip quirks slightly, a brief moment of respite in a morning that has produced nothing but confusion and anxiety. He follows Luke’s suit and sinks into the couch, closing his eyes.

The room is silent for another moment, and then Threepio asks what everyone is thinking: “So what now?”

No one has an immediate answer. The entire situation has arisen so suddenly and acutely that Luke’s head is spinning. If someone asked him what color the sky was just at this moment, he probably wouldn’t be able to tell them. The prospect of thinking through the next steps after receiving such devastating news seems nearly impossible.

The feeling reminds him of the days after his father’s death. They’d been through funeral preparations and burial provisions before, when Padmé had passed, but Luke had been so young at the time that he barely remembers even attending the services. After Anakin died, the details had been left almost entirely to Luke and Leia. But Luke had been so distraught at his father’s passing that the idea of making any plans for his repose made him nauseous.

Now, though, the next steps don’t involve floral arrangements or church bookings. The way Luke handles this is critical to not only his own safety, and not even just to the safety of his loved ones.

The information in the file he holds in his hands could lead to the destruction of entire nations. Luke has a sinking feeling that his next move could change the course of history.

It’s not a pleasant feeling. But he’s certain of one thing: no matter what, he needs to protect these plans from falling into the wrong hands.

Threepio and Artoo are discussing matters quietly to themselves. Luke’s about to tune out when he catches a snippet:

_“...we’ll send them up with Ben.”_

“What?” Luke bursts out, standing up swiftly. “You can’t be serious. I need to stop this guy from getting the file!”

“Luke,” Threepio says placatingly, “this situation has escalated and Artoo and I believe it to be too dangerous--”

“Did I ask what you think?” Luke snaps. “You’re not my parents, and I’m capable of making my own judgements on what’s _too dangerous._ ”

“Like hell you are,” Artoo shoots back, launching out of his chair to match Luke’s stance. “You’re a _kid_. You don’t know jack shit about what danger really is.”

“And you do?” Luke crosses his arms. “You were living under my father’s supervision for years and then moved to _Austin_ . You’ve never been in danger in your life!” 

“You also don’t know jack shit about my life,” Artoo sneers.

“Same could be said about you.”

Han and Threepio decide this is a fantastic time to intervene, and they actually have to physically pull the two men away from each other. Luke hears Artoo grumbling something about _“stuck-up, spoiled brat”_ over the ringing in his ears.

“Hey,” Han says, his strong hands bracing Luke’s shoulders in a way that is both comforting and restraining. He bends down to meet Luke’s eyes. “Chill out. They’re just trying to help.”

“I don’t need help,” Luke insists, not meeting Han’s gaze.

“Yeah, I know that, but they haven’t been around for the past six months.” Luke feels a tiny thrill of shame run down his back, reminded that Artoo and Threepio aren’t the enemy.

He takes a deep breath and meets Han’s eyes. “You’re right,” he grumbles, and Han grins.

Luke turns back around to face Artoo, who’s staring out the window, steaming.

“Sorry.”

Artoo doesn’t look like he’s ready to forgive Luke, but he turns to him anyway. When they lock eyes, Artoo’s entire posture sinks.

“I am, too,’ he admits. “You’re right, you know. We’re not your parents. We can’t make you do anything.” He combs his fingers through his short hair and blows out a breath. “I just -- I know what your father would say. He wouldn’t want you getting mixed up in this.” Artoo pauses. “But then, he shouldn’t have left you with this mess to clean up.” He sits down slowly, and Threepio does the same. “So, what I’m trying to say is...you need a plan. A _good_ one.”

Luke shifts on his feet. “I’m not a very good strategist.”

Han comes up behind him and wraps his arm around Luke’s shoulders. “Then it’s a good thing you have me.”

* * *

Han’s years of playing StarCraft with Chewie seem to have finally paid off. Luke’s always known he was good at working through projects, but he’s starting to realize Han is much more than just a pretty face to make present class projects.

“First things first,” Han announces once they’re all gathered around the kitchen table with coffee mugs in hand. “We need to figure out who this was going to be sold to, and why.”

“There’s a list in there of interested parties,” Artoo points out, and Luke scrambles to pull it out. There’s about twenty clients listed, mostly just names and phone numbers with a few P.O. box addresses thrown in.

“You would think buying a nuclear weapon would be a touch more official,” Threepio mutters.

“That’s the point,” Han says. “This would have been top secret. None of the potential buyers would have wanted anyone to know of this transaction. I’m willing to bet all of these names are aliases.”

“Great,” Artoo grumbles. “No real names. How are we supposed to even identify these people?”

“We could cross-check the numbers and addresses with an online database,” Luke offers.

Han shakes his head. “No way YellowPages is going to have an accurate description of whoever owns these boxes.”

“What about the gang?” Luke says. “If they were hired to steal the file, someone’s gotta know who paid them off. That could lead us back to the buyer.”

“How are you gonna find that out?” Artoo asks incredulously. “Do you expect to just walk into their front and ask nicely for the name of the person who tried to have you _killed?_ ”

“It’s kind of our only option,” Han argues, rubbing his chin as he stares at the list. “Even if we were somehow able to authenticate the list, by the time we had accurate identities it might already be too late. The Clones could already be on their way back here to finish the job.”

“I still think your safest bet is to get out of the city,” Artoo insists, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “It can buy you some more time to figure out the buyer, and you’ll be safer.”

“I think I know a way we can do both,” Luke says, suddenly remembering the slip of paper in his pocket.

All three men turn to look at Luke as he pulls the paper out. “Ahsoka gave me this,” he says. “It’s the number of a former Clone. He must still have contacts in the gang that could give us information.”

“How do you know he’ll help you?” Threepio asks skeptically.

“Ahsoka wouldn’t have given me his number if she didn’t think he’d be willing to,” Luke responds.

“What does this guy do now?” Han asks, examining the paper thoughtfully.

“He’s a construction worker in Virginia,” Luke says. “He has, like, a completely new identity. He goes by a different name than that one.”

“You really trust that detective enough to travel across the country?” Artoo asks. “What if she got it wrong and he doesn’t want anything to do with you?”

“Then we find a different lead,” Luke answers, his confidence growing by the minute. “This is our only chance right now. If we want to stop the buyer from getting their hands on this file, we need to follow this.” He pauses, taking note of the feeling buzzing around his chest. He smiles softly. “Besides, I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

Artoo sighs and throws his hands behind his head, thinking for a moment. “Alright, kid,” he says finally. “Looks like you’re going to Virginia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed!! please leave comments + kudos and hmu on tumblr @practically-writes-itself if you want!!! big hugs and hope you're all staying safe!!! <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is kind of a bonus chapter!!! not a lot of plot development but a ton of backstory that will hopefully clear some stuff up. enjoy!!!

The boys spend the rest of the day finalizing their plans and organizing their trip. They book flight tickets, make hotel reservations,and do their best to find out whatever information they can on Mando. They’re not very successful, but they are able to pin down a home address, and Luke figures that’s probably the most important thing they need anyway.

Around eight, Han heads home to pack and get some rest. He’s hesitant to leave after what happened with the gang the previous night, but Artoo and Threepio agree to stay with Luke and Han seems satisfied enough with that to begrudgingly shuffle out the door. Threepio orders some takeout Mexican and the three eat together in near silence, Luke still unsure of how to interact with the two men after his outburst earlier. Still, Threepio finds spaces to insert commentary about his tacos or how beautiful California still is.

It isn’t long before Threepio falls asleep in Ben’s recliner and Luke and Artoo are left without his reassuring undercurrent of conversation. Luke is incredibly embarrassed about the way he spoke to Artoo earlier, but he can’t seem to find it in him to bring up the subject without dying from shame, so he awkwardly scrolls through his Instagram feed, avoiding eye contact with Artoo, who’s sitting next to him on the couch watching reality television.

After what seems like an eternity of uncomfortable silence, the TV clicks off and Luke pauses his scrolling. He looks up tentatively, and nearly jumps out of his skin when he realizes Artoo is staring at him dead-on.

“I think we need to talk about earlier,” Artoo says, unblinking.

Luke swallows hard. “Yeah. About that...look, Artoo, I’m real sorry--”

“Don’t worry about it,” Artoo dismisses, and Luke shuts his mouth, a little surprised. “You were right. I really don’t know anything about your life recently, and I definitely don’t have the authority to boss you around.” He shifts, looking sort of sheepish, and averts his eyes. “The truth is, when I look at you…” Artoo meets Luke’s eyes again, and Luke’s shocked to find that they’re shining. “...I see your father. And I couldn’t stop him from making the mistakes he did. So if there’s some way to protect you, kid...I’ll do it.”

Luke  _ really _ doesn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know that Artoo and his father were this close. He certainly doesn’t understand what Artoo failed to protect Anakin from, or what the mistakes he’s alluding to are about.

“Still,” Artoo continues, “you’re not your father. But you  _ have  _ inherited the mess he’s made, and if this is going where I think it’s going, I’m pretty sure you’ve inherited his enemies, too.”

“Artoo…” Luke shakes his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Artoo chuckles quietly, then leans back. “I told you earlier that you didn’t know anything about my life. Well, now I’m going to tell you, because I’m pretty sure it’ll help you understand what you’re getting yourself into.”

Luke, slightly apprehensive, crosses his legs under himself and grabs a pillow. “I’m all ears.”

Artoo clears his throat and begins. “I knew your mother first,” he says. “We met at college. Her family owned a big hardware chain out in Michigan, right near the university. I was working there to pay my way through school, and Padmé was always hanging around. I guess we just hit it off from being around each other so much -- whatever it was, we became best friends. Fast.

“After graduating, she decided she was going to establish residency in California so that she could get involved with the politics there. I wasn’t going to let her go alone, so I lined up a job with a car parts manufacturer near Bakersfield and we moved out here together.

“Within the first two years of us living here she met Anakin. I was convinced he went against everything she had ever stood for -- here she was, a Los Angeles Councilwoman pushing the strictest gun laws in state history, getting involved with a guy who was on his way to owning the foremost weapons manufacturing company in the country. 

“But he proved me wrong. Anakin was a genius in every sense of the word -- he could look at a piece of machinery and understand exactly how it worked, right down to the smallest mechanisms. And he was responsible. He understood that his business was tricky, and he had to be careful with the way he approached it. I admired him a lot.

“Anyway, I was getting fed up with my job in Bakersfield and besides, I wanted something a little more sustainable. So I asked your father for a job, and he was more than generous. Almost right off the bat, he was trusting me with all day-to-day operations. I was visiting factories, sitting in on executive meetings, even helping him design, sometimes. Business was booming and we were doing fantastic.

“That’s around the time you and Leia were born. Your mom was a Senator by then, so she couldn’t be around much, and your father was so busy he barely had time to take care of himself. So they hired Threepio.

“He and I couldn’t stand each other at first. Caesar’s the kind of guy who needs complete order. He doesn’t like when things are out of place, or there’s messes to be cleaned up. I’m the total opposite. I practically live in chaos, can’t function without it. So when we had to work together -- whether it was looking after you two or running some of the operations at the office -- all we did was get on each other’s nerves.

“I don’t even know when it changed. One day we realized if we stopped fighting, we could get some wicked work done. And it sort of spiraled from there. Nights working late turned into takeout Chinese at the office after hours, taking care of you and your sister became a two-person job. Eventually we just said, screw it. Might as well be a team forever.”

Artoo’s got a sort of dazed look on his face, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and he sneaks a glance at his husband, passed out across the room and snoring. After a second, he shakes his head. “I’m getting off topic. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Business.

“Your father’s company was insanely profitable. Stocks were crazy high and we had buyers all over the world. Your mother wasn’t happy about it, but I honestly believe Anakin didn’t care who he was selling to at this point. As long as they were paying, he’d be moving.

“This is about the time I started having second thoughts. I was Anakin’s right hand man at this point, even more involved than Ben. I was seeing all the new designs, all the highest-paying bidders. And I didn’t like what I saw.

“Like I said before, your father was a genius. He knew exactly how to build whatever people were looking for. And Anakin wasn’t humble about it. He knew he was talented and he liked to show it off, to test himself. He pushed himself to the edge and stepped back at the last minute.

“Well, he was bound to fly too close to the sun at some point, I guess. He came to me one day with an idea. Anakin had it in his mind that he was going to build the next atomic bomb.”

Luke shivers. “The Death Star,” he guesses.

Artoo nods.

“But you told Threepio you didn’t know about it,” Luke says, slightly confused.

“I panicked,” Artoo offers. “I couldn’t tell him. He’d be too upset.” Seeing the look on Luke’s face, he assures, “I’ll tell him. Don’t worry.”

Artoo settles back into his seat and continues. “So your father’s explaining this plan, and I’m getting more nauseous by the minute. The look on his face -- it’s like he didn’t even  _ realize  _ how dangerous it could be. I cut him off halfway through his explanation and tried my best to convince him to stop production, but he refused. It was too late anyway, he said. He already had a buyer lined up.

“I was disgusted. Anakin had made some pretty horrific weapons before, but nothing like this. Nothing that could wipe out an entire country with one detonation.

“I didn’t know what to do except leave. So that’s what I did. I told Threepio I found another job in Austin and that we were moving the next week. He knew something was up, but he didn’t press it.” Artoo breathes out, closing his eyes. “I’ve never regretted anything more. I should have stayed, should have made Anakin listen. But I didn’t. I ran away. And now it’s you that’s in trouble.”

He turns back to Luke, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “It’s my fault, kid. It’s my fault you’re in this mess.”

Luke is completely and totally overwhelmed. He’s stunned to hear about this side of his father, about the inner workings of his semi-illicit dealings. Even more so, he’s shocked that Artoo was so involved, and that he would lie to his husband. Still, he knows one thing.

“It’s not your fault,” Luke tells him.

Artoo shakes his head. “Don’t give me that good kid crap. If I had stuck around, maybe those plans never would have existed.”   
  
“My dad had already sold the prototype,” Luke reminds him. “It was out of your hands.”

Artoo takes a deep breath and leans back. They sit in silence for a few moments, lost in their own heads.

“You should definitely tell Threepio,” Luke insists.

Artoo laughs humorlessly. “I’m not sure he doesn’t already know,” he says. “He didn’t seem all that convinced earlier.”   
  
“Still,” Luke says, “honesty is important in relationships.”   
  
Artoo gives him a funny look. “Since when did you become so grown up?”   
  
Luke grins. “I told you, you don’t know shit about my life recently.”

Artoo laughs, and turns back on the television. Some ridiculous TLC show is playing, but Luke’s not really paying attention, anyway. He’s still thinking about his father, this other side that Luke doesn’t remember, and probably never even saw. Did he even really know Anakin? Or was that just a facade he put up when he walked through the front door at five P.M.?

“So, Han Solo, huh,” Artoo says, not taking his eyes off the television.

“Huh?” Luke asks, struggling to shift his thoughts from his father to the conversation at hand.

“He’s pretty crazy about you, is all,” Artoo observes.

“Han?” Luke asks, shocked. “Like, Han who was here a couple hours ago? That Han?”

Artoo chuckles. “Yes, Luke. That Han.”

Luke’s cheeks heat up. “What do you mean?” he asks innocently, trying to hide his curiosity.

Artoo snorts. “Please, kid. I know you’re not stupid. Casual friends don’t get all up in arms at the prospect of leaving their buddy alone for the night.”   
  
“He’s just worried something will happen.”   
  
“I’m pretty sure he knows Threepio and I could handle that.” He flips off the TV and turns to Luke. “So what’s the story? You guys a thing?”

Luke has to avert his eyes to keep from visibly cringing. “No,” he insists, but Artoo doesn’t look convinced. “Sort of,” he admits.

Artoo raises his eyebrows, looking attentive.

Luke sighs. “I don’t know. We almost, like, kissed a couple nights ago, before this all--” Luke flings his hands around vaguely, “--went down. But we were drunk. It was probably just a in-the-moment type situation.”

“I don’t know, kid,” Artoo says. “I know what it looks like when a guy falls in love with his best friend. And Han’s got it written all over his face.”

Luke bites his lip. “You really think so?”

“Yeah, kid, I do.” Artoo pushes himself off the couch and stretches out his back. “I gotta get some sleep. You should too,” he advises. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Luke nods, and Artoo, seemingly satisfied, begins walking away. Before he turns the corner, Luke calls out, “Artoo?”

He turns back.

“Thanks,” Luke says. “For telling me about my dad.”   
  
Artoo shrugs. “Anytime. Thanks for telling me about your love life.”

“It was nice,” Luke admits. “Makes me feel like I’m not crazy.”

“I know crazy, kid,” Artoo says with a meaningful glance towards the recliner where Threepio is drooling. “You ain’t it.”

He turns into the bedroom and shuts the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i banged this out SO FAST because it was so fun to write. my favorite part of this fic is that i get to play with adapting some of the characters' backstories to this modern au, and artoo's story really let me play with that.
> 
> anyway, hope you enjoyed!!! please leave comments + kudos and hmu on @practically-writes-itself on tumblr!!! xoxo, stay safe <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI ALL!! sorry i haven't updated in, like, forever. i got distracted by school and other writing projects -- speaking of which, if you're as sucked in by the avatar: the last airbender renaissance as i am check out my profile! i recently published a short zukka fanfic and plan on writing more. anyways, enjoy this chapter! updates will be more regular again!!!

Luke’s nearly forgotten how much he loves flying.

By ten A.M., he and Han are on the security line of LAX, taking off their shoes and shuffling along behind a family of no less than twelve bratty children. Luke can’t get enough of the airport: everywhere he looks, he sees businessmen rushing towards the terminal, phones pressed against their ears; mothers trying desperately to wrangle their children into seats; couples reuniting outside the gates. Most excitingly, he catches glimpses of pilots and flight attendants chatting against the walls and grabbing quick bites between flights. It reminds him that even amongst all the insanity that he’s going through now, Luke has a plan for his life, and in a couple years he’ll be taking these veterans’ places.

Han, on the other hand, is shaking with anxiety. He tries to hide it, but Luke knows he’s not a fan of flying. He’s gone with the Skywalker family on vacation a few times in his youth, and even on their private jet, Han was always uncomfortable being in the air. Luke shudders to imagine what Han’s going to be putting him through on the nearly five hour Economy flight to D.C.

The line moves surprisingly quickly for LAX, and before long Luke and Han are waiting outside the Starbucks cafe. Luke’s practically drowning in his Venti Iced Caramel Macchiato, but Han’s barely touched his black coffee, opting instead to flick his eyes around the terminal suspiciously.

“You okay?” Luke asks tentatively. Han’s eyes flash to meet his, and Luke’s startled by how red they’ve gotten.

“Did you sleep  _ at all _ last night?” Luke’s a little horrified.

Han shakes his head. “No. I was planning.”

“Planning what? I thought we had mostly everything figured out yesterday.”   


Han huffs and sinks slightly lower into his seat. “All we had was an address and a phone number.” Han digs into his pocket and pulls out his phone, scrolling through it expertly before sliding it across the table to Luke. It’s a Notes page, filled with information.

“Holy shit, Han,” Luke says, his eyes widening. “What did you do? Hire a P.I.?”

Han laughs humorously. “Please. It’s not that difficult to fill out a profile of a former gang member.”

Luke digests the page, committing the information to memory as best he can. Mando, born Din Djarin, was arrested a total of eight times between 2005 and 2012, all on charges of petty crime and a few DUI’s. As far as Han was able to find, it seems that Mando worked as muscle for the Clones, often apprehended following shootouts and robberies. He moved cross-country in 2015, registering at a homeless shelter before seemingly settling down with a construction company and a permanent address in Mechanicsville. Most interestingly --

“He has a kid?” Luke asks, eyebrows raised as he looks back up at Han.

Han nods as he sips his coffee. “Not biological,” he says, “but they seem to have been together since the kid was born, basically. The adoption papers were dated 2018, but by then the kid was already three. It also seems unlikely that Mando would’ve randomly decided to adopt unless they already had some kind of connection.”

Luke goes to continue reading but notices the time. “Shit,” he hisses, jumping out of his seat and snatching up his carry-on. “We gotta go.”

Han freezes for a moment but quickly follows Luke’s suit and they sprint for their gate. Overhead, a voice comes over the speaker announcing the last boarding call.

They make it onto the plane just in time, and Luke scrambles to claim the window seat. He stares excitedly out at the runway, enthralled with the marshallers and workers packing their luggage into the plane’s underbelly.

He turns back to Han, who already looks slightly nauseous.

Wordlessly, and with a slight tremble, Luke reaches out to take Han’s hand. He gives it a reassuring squeeze, and Han’s hold tightens as the plane takes off.

* * *

Luke sends up a tiny prayer of thanksgiving to the powers that be as soon as Han succumbs to his exhaustion and passes out halfway through the flight. He’d been squeezing Luke’s hand so hard that his fingers had gone numb. He still couldn’t totally feel them.

Luke spends the last couple hours watching a movie he’d been meaning to see but realizes quickly that he’d saved fifteen dollars on a ticket for good reason. Eventually, he just switches it off and listens to a podcast.

As soon as the plane starts to descend, Han is wide awake. He’s gripping his armrests so tightly Luke wouldn’t be surprised if they snapped off, and although he’d normally kill for any type of physical contact with Han he can’t help but be grateful it’s not his hand that’s being choked to death.

The plane lands without issue, and soon enough Luke and Han are grabbing their luggage off the conveyor belt and headed out the front lobby. With a start, Luke realizes this is the first time he’s been on the East Coast. Even when the Skywalkers travelled together, they would always be on their way either out of the country or to a beach somewhere. And when Anakin came for business, he travelled alone. Luke finds himself feeling the same way he always does when he visits a new place -- exhilarated and a little intoxicated -- even though he knows Richmond isn’t exactly the glamorous destinations he’s used to. 

They call an Uber and make their way to the Holiday Inn they’re staying at, Han looking at his phone and Luke with his face practically pressed against the window, staring out at the changing scenery. He’s fascinated by the old buildings, the statues, the quaint little churches with flagstones dating them back to the 1600s -- the sheer history surrounding him is nearly overwhelming. Los Angeles is definitely a cultural hub, but not in the way Richmond is -- whereas Luke’s grown up surrounded by Old Hollywood and mid-century architecture, this city is a hodge-podge of modern skyscrapers and Revolutionary estates. It’s beautiful and interesting and so different from anything Luke’s been exposed to before.

They pull up to the hotel (which, admittedly, looks exactly the same as any chain hotel Luke’s stayed at before) and hulk their bags up to the front desk. Luke can’t resist slipping a complimentary cookie while Han checks them in.

They could really only afford one room, so they grab their key and make their way up to the third floor. Luke quite enjoys being pressed into the corner of the cool elevator with Han at his side, the rest of the space filled with their bags and a small family on their way to the pool.

They step off onto their floor and Han compares the numbers on the doors to the one on his keycard before stopping at a room near the end of the hall. “Finally,” he mutters to himself as he swipes the card and pushes open the door, immediately rounding the corner and slamming the bathroom door shut. 

Luke steps in and takes a deep breath, scented by the slightly mouldy air conditioning and freshly laundered sheets. He lets himself fall back onto the bed closest to the door, and though he doesn’t mean to, he falls asleep as soon as he allows himself to close his eyes.

By the time he wakes up the sun’s gone down, and Han’s laying on top of the covers on his own bed, a towel piled on top of his head dramatically as he flips through the free cable channels installed on the television. Luke pushes himself up onto his elbows, and Han doesn’t look up as he tosses a brochure onto Luke’s bed.

Luke picks up the pamphlet and reads the front:  _ Visit Richmond, Capital of the South! _

He quirks an eyebrow as he raises his gaze to look at Han. “You trying to tell me you want to go sightseeing?”

Han huffs, apparently still in a bad mood from the plane ride even while wearing a rose-scented sheet mask. “Check the page I marked,” he says, setting down the remote in defeat. 

Luke does as he’s told, flipping to the dog-earred page while the shrill shrieking of a soon-to-be-eliminated Voice contestant ringing in his ears. The page contains a list of construction companies in the city, and one is circled: Outer Rim Contracting, LLC.

“This is where Mando works?” Luke asks, already pulling out his phone to Google it.

Han nods and shuts off the television. “Typical nine-to-five, job, it seems like. I did look into whether he was still dealing, though.”

Luke looks up, semi-shocked. “You really think he’d still be doing that when he’s got a son now?”

Han shrugs. “Construction isn’t exactly lucrative. He’s gotta take care of the kid somehow.” When Luke still looks unconvinced, Han lets out a short laugh. “Don’t worry. He seems clean, as far as I can tell. No arrests since he was hired.”

Luke nods and folds back up the brochure, depositing it into the bedside table drawer. “So what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

Han pushes himself off the bed. “It’s Sunday tomorrow,” he says as he enters the bathroom, his voice echoing off the tiled walls. “He won’t be working. I say we just show up and knock on the guy’s door.”

Luke actually laughs. He follows Han and leans against the doorpost, his arms crossed. “You’re kidding, right? We can’t just pull up to his apartment and expect him to dish out his former gang’s business dealings.”

Han turns to him as he’s peeling the sheet mask from his face, eyebrows drawn together. “You have a better plan?”

Luke shrugs, shifting so he can cross one ankle over the other. “I think we should at least call the guy before we show up unannounced.”   


“And what if he says no?” Han splashes his face with water from the sink before patting it dry with one of the starched white hotel towels hanging nearby. “We’d have come all this way for nothing.”

As much as he hates to admit it, Han’s right. They don’t have many options. Their best course of action is to catch Mando off guard, not give him any time to shirk them off.

Luke sighs. “Alright. So we catch him after work.”

Han grins as he pulls the towel off his face and meets Luke’s unconvinced frown. “See? You’re cute when you’re reckless.”

Luke tamps down the rush of electricity heating up his cheeks and exits the bathroom, unsure, once again, what exactly he’s gotten himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i realize making han afraid of flying is quite out of character but i liked the juxtqposition between he and luke, who's in love with it. next chapter will have lots of mandalorian content!!!   
> hope you enjoyed! leave comments and kudos, and follow my writing blog on tumblr @practically-writes-itself!


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